by Heidi Lang
“Easy money, is it?” Jessie muttered, observing how Monique trudged around the outside of the park. She didn’t seem like she was having any fun at all. If Jessie and Wes made her job a little harder, would Monique give up and go away? After all, they were just dogs to her. She didn’t love them, and she didn’t love the job.
And as Jessie watched Monique clean up after one of the dogs, she had an idea for their first plan of attack. It was time for Operation Sabotage to commence.
CHAPTER 21
“Sunrise again? Seriously, Jessie?” Ann grumbled as Jessie’s alarm went off the next morning. But Jessie ignored her. It had to be sunrise. Light enough to see, dark enough to not be seen. She dressed quickly with shaking fingers, her nerves jangling around until she felt sick with them. She couldn’t even eat . . .
OK, she could still eat. She grabbed a banana and a granola bar. And then another banana. And a second granola bar. Then she headed out the door, eating quickly as she half-walked, half-jogged to Wes’s house. The sky was lightening around the edges, turning the houses and trees into black-and-white cutouts.
Wes opened his door at the first knock. “Time to figure out our first operation, eh?” he said.
Jessie grinned. “I already came up with one.”
“You did?” He raised his eyebrows.
Jessie knew she wasn’t very good at revenge, but lots of practice as a human pooper-scooper had given her a plan. She told him her idea.
Wes chuckled. “That is truly terrible. I like it.”
“Really?” Jessie felt a strange mixture of pride and apprehension, like her insides were caught in a washing machine, circling over and over. “Are we . . . are we really going to do it, then?”
Wes paused, then shrugged. “You know, why not? Let’s give it a try.”
Wes didn’t speak much on the drive to Monique’s. His knuckles were white above the steering wheel and he kept shooting strange, furtive looks at Jessie. She wondered if he was having second thoughts about all of this. And sure enough, once he’d parked on the street a couple houses down, he twisted to look back at her, his expression serious. It reminded Jessie of the look her father got whenever he had to Make a Point, and she steeled herself for a lecture. “Once we start down this path, there’s no turning back,” he said.
“I know. And I’m ready.” Jessie took a deep breath, let it out. “She took Angel from us, Wes. She took Zelda and Sweetpea and Sammy, too. Who’s next?” Jessie curled her hands into fists. “She declared war first.”
Wes fished Monique’s key out of his glove compartment and held it in the palm of his hand as if weighing it. It wasn’t heavy, but she imagined it soaking in the importance of the moment, like a sack slowly filling with grains of sand until eventually it carried the whole beach. She was almost afraid to take it from him, and when she did, it felt hot and gritty.
“You’re sure?” he asked one more time.
“Yes. I want to do it.” This first Operation was her idea; she wanted to be the one who carried it out.
“Be careful,” he said as Jessie slipped outside, the key clenched in one sweaty fist.
She remembered all the other tips Wes had given her: walk confidently, look like you belong. Be aware of your surroundings. Calm, confident energy. Calm, confident energy. She had to repeat that to herself several times, and then she was there, she was at the car, she was unlocking it and slipping inside and closing the door.
And there were all of Monique’s supplies, all unsecured and ready to be tampered with. Jessie reached toward them, then wavered. But this had to be done. For the good of Wes, and for the good of the canine nation.
“I thought this would be more exciting,” Jessie said, reluctantly slicing another hole in a roll of pink, lavender-scented poop bags. It was hole number eighty-seven, in roll number five. Yes, she’d been counting. At least Wes was allowing her to sit in the front seat of his car while they worked.
“Not sure why you thought that,” Wes said.
“Because it’s revenge. Revenge is exciting.”
Wes regarded her coolly. “You have obviously not had much experience in the art of revenge.”
Jessie thought of her pathetic list of ways to get back at Loralee. Her face burned and she put another slit in the next bag. “I came up with this idea, didn’t I?”
Wes sighed. “Yes, you did. But the truth is, most revenge is boring, tedious work. It’s all about studying your enemy, setting traps, and waiting. In fact, this might be a good time for the next Rule of the Ruff.”
“Really?” Jessie’s hand slipped and she tore an extra-large slit in the bag. “The fifth Rule?”
Wes cleared his throat. “The fifth Rule of the Ruff is this: Be patient.”
“I thought you said that wasn’t a Ruff Rule, but a life rule.”
“It can be both.”
“But how does that apply to dogs?”
“Dogs are very patient creatures.”
Jessie thought of all the dogs she’d walked and how they practically burst out of their front doors. “No, they’re not.”
“Are you arguing with me?”
“No.”
Wes scowled. “Dogs are patient. This is not a debate.”
“I wasn’t debating,” Jessie grumbled. “I was merely discussing.”
“Well, this isn’t a discussion, either. They’re patient. End of story. And if you want to properly walk a dog, you have to learn to be patient, too.”
Jessie rolled her eyes and poked another hole in yet another bag. She was plenty patient. Hadn’t she spent an entire day on a bench? For the first time, she began to wonder if Wes was just making these Rules up as he went along.
Wes took the roll from her. “Some dogs,” he said quietly, “will sit in the same spots, staring at their front doors all day long, just waiting for their owners to show up.”
“That’s . . . that’s really sad.”
“It is.” He rolled the bags up into a tight little cylinder, his large hands moving gently until the edges were all lined up. “People don’t deserve that kind of devotion.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Jessie imagining all those dogs, just sitting there, doing nothing but waiting, waiting, waiting. She shuddered. “I’m glad we’re around to take them out.”
Wes surprised her with a quick smile. “Me too, kid.” He put the sticker back on the last bag of the roll, pinning them all together. To Jessie’s eye, it looked like a brand-new roll of bags, just like all the other rolls they’d tampered with. Amazing. He pocketed them as he opened his car door. “Let’s go.”
“The eagle has landed,” Jessie whispered into a walkie-talkie. She crouched lower, the bushes scratching at her face and neck, but she didn’t care. “I repeat, the eagle has landed. Over.”
“‘The eagle’ . . . What kind of nonsense are you spouting?” Wes’s voice came through the walkie-talkie soft and crackly. It had been Jessie’s idea to get walkie-talkies, because Wes, strange man that he was, didn’t own a cell phone. Well, neither did she, but she wasn’t an adult. She had to wait until her dad decided she was responsible enough for one. Never mind that everyone else at her school had them . . . anyways. Walkie-talkies were better. Cell phones didn’t make that enjoyable crackling sound. Plus, you weren’t supposed to say things like “over” or “roger that” on a cell phone.
“Explain,” Wes demanded.
“I see our target. She’s . . . oh. Oh no.”
“What? What?”
Jessie turned down the volume on the walkie-talkie. “She’s walking Sweetpea.” Jessie grinned. Sweetpea always had to go to the bathroom at the start of the walk. And usually again in the middle. Sometimes a third time before the end.
“Heh. Well, keep me posted,” Wes said.
“Roger that.”
“And stop saying that.”
“Over and out.”
“That, too,” Wes grumbled. The walkie-talkie crackled a few seconds longer, then went silent. Jessie
turned it off, not wanting any noise to give away her position.
A sudden cry made her look up, and she gasped. Monique stood a few feet down the trail, staring at her right hand in horror. Her right hand, which was inside a poop bag. A used poop bag, but more importantly, a ripped poop bag.
Jessie had to smother a giggle as Monique pulled the disgusting bag off her hand, then wiped her fingers on the grass.
“Can’t believe this . . . second time today.” Monique used another bag to clean up her ripped bag. Unfortunately for her, that one also had a large tear in the bottom. “Aagh!” Monique dropped the bag with a gross splat. She looked at her messy hand, sighed loudly, then wiped her fingers in the grass again. Sweetpea panted happily next to her.
“Stop looking so cheerful,” Monique snapped at the dog. She adjusted the leash in her left hand, then continued walking, her right hand held out a foot in front of her body so it wouldn’t contaminate the rest of her.
“Hey! Hey, ma’am! You left your doggie bag,” a man called after her. Monique’s shoulders stiffened, but she kept walking, leaving the ripped bags behind. “Hey! They’re not going to clean themselves up, you know!” Monique walked faster, turning a corner and hurrying off the main trail. “Can you believe that?” the man said to a woman walking a small terrier. “Just left those bags there.”
“I know. So rude,” the woman agreed. “It’s people like that who get dogs banned from places.” She patted her own stash of doggie bags, clearly wanting to show she wasn’t a person like that.
“I’ve seen her here before,” the man mused. “I think she’s a dog walker.”
“Well. Clearly not a very good one.” The woman lifted her nose in the air and continued walking down the trail, and moments later, the man resumed his jog. Neither of them bothered to clean up the abandoned bags themselves.
Jessie waited a few minutes longer, then ducked out of the bushes when she was sure no one was around. She used a large stick to pick up the bags and carry them to the garbage bin down the trail. Then she turned on her walkie-talkie. “First mission a success,” she said.
Crackle. Crackle. “No ‘roger’ this time?” Wes’s voice came through the static.
“It would be ‘over,’ not ‘roger,’” Jessie sighed.
“You OK, kiddo? Not having second thoughts, are you?”
“Of course not.” Monique deserved this. She deserved worse than this. If Monique wanted “easy money,” she should do something else. Dog walking was an art.
“OK then. Meet me back by my car.” He hesitated, then begrudgingly added, “Wes, over and out.”
That brought a smile to Jessie’s lips. “Over and out,” she said.
“Someone looks determined,” Wes said as Jessie joined him by his car. “Eye of the tiger.”
“Eye of the dog,” Jessie corrected solemnly.
Wes chuckled. He seemed much more relaxed now that they had begun Operation Sabotage, his sadness from last week practically forgotten. Yet more proof that they were doing the right thing. She was doing the right thing.
“Wes?”
Wes turned. A woman got out of her car and waved to him. She had reddish-blond hair clipped back in a low ponytail, and there was something vaguely familiar about her . . .
“Howoo?” A little wolfy dog Jessie knew all too well hopped out of the car and trotted up to Wes. “Howooo,” she sang. Wes leaned down and pet her head.
Hazel and Hazel’s owner. Clearly.
“I’m glad I caught you. I was wondering if you’d like to do lunch?” the woman asked.
Wes hesitated.
“I mean, only if you want to,” she added quickly. “I know you’re usually busy.”
Wes glanced at Jessie, then back at the woman. “Why not?”
“Really?” Her whole face brightened. It was like watching a dog about to be leashed for a walk.
“Absolutely.” Wes turned to Jessie. “Think you can handle the afternoon pack? Pickles, Bear, and Presto?”
Jessie froze. “Me?”
“No, my other assistant. And before you ask, no, I don’t actually have another assistant.”
“I know that,” Jessie grumbled. Her heart beat faster. Could she handle the whole dog walk on her own? Just her and the dogs? “I can take them,” she decided.
Wes grinned and clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, kid.” And then he got into the front seat of the woman’s car, Hazel leaping onto his lap. The woman gave Jessie one last quizzical look, got back in her car, and drove off.
And Jessie was on her own. A dog walker, flying solo. She took a deep breath and set out. It was going to take a lot longer without a car, but that didn’t matter. She had her feet, and she had her hip pack, and she was ready.
CHAPTER 22
Jessie ate her dinner that night without complaint, even though it was a tuna casserole and her aunt always put onions in it.
It had been an exhausting afternoon walking those dogs by herself and running to each house in between. Exhausting, but fun, and she was feeling pretty proud of herself. But now it was time to get back to Operation Sabotage: She needed to figure out their next move.
She helped clear the table without being asked, and as she put away the leftovers, she glanced around the fridge for something . . . anything . . .
There. Wrapped in parchment paper and thawing on the top shelf was their customary Thursday night fish.
Jessie reached for it.
“I’m surprised by you, Jessie,” Aunt Beatrice said behind her.
Jessie jumped and slammed the fridge shut, her heart in her throat, the fish in her hand. She turned, keeping her hands behind her back. “S-surprised?” she managed, guilt blazing across her face. Did her aunt know what she was planning?
“You’ve been doing more chores lately without waiting to be told. It shows a new level of maturity for you.” Aunt Beatrice beamed. “I’ll have to mention it to your dad.”
“Th-thanks,” Jessie said, her mouth thick. After her aunt left the kitchen, Jessie stood there for a long moment, the stolen fish heavy in her hands. Her aunt had never smiled at her like that before. Not once.
She opened the fridge and started to put the fish back, then stopped. An image popped into her head: that sideways look Loralee had given her last summer when she invited Ann to come with her. A look that told Jessie You don’t matter. A smug, triumphant look. You want to come walk with me? That is, unless you’re busy. Loralee had known what Ann’s response would be. No one was too busy for her. Even Max. He’d turned Loralee down once to stay with Jessie, but a few days later, Jessie had lost him, too.
Just like Wes had lost Sweetpea. And Zelda. And Angel. Jessie remembered the condescending way Monique had bragged about it in the car. The people around here are practically begging me to take their dogs out. At this rate, Wes will be folding up his business in no time. She thought she’d already won, too.
Jessie closed the fridge door. She couldn’t back out now. Her aunt might not understand, but she was doing this for Wes. And for the dogs.
Before Jessie could chicken out, she stuffed the fish inside a gallon ziplock bag, tucked the bag under her shirt, and snuck through the house.
Ann was on the phone when Jessie slipped into their room.
“Uh-huh. Yeah, that really sucks. Uh-huh. Sounds like he’s just being a jerk. Definitely.” Ann glanced up at Jessie. She stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Hey, I’ve gotta run. Maybe this weekend? Yes? Yeah, Saturday would be great! OK.” She hung up, then tossed her phone to the side.
“What’s up in Loralee land?” Jessie asked.
“Oh, I guess Max is being weird. He said she can’t come to dinner with them Friday night.”
“Dinner?” A sudden suspicion hit Jessie harder than a charging dog. “Dinner here?”
“Yes, here. Didn’t Mom tell you?”
Jessie shook her head.
“Well, they’re coming over at six p.m. on Friday. And before you get any i
deas, I don’t think there are enough chores in the world to save you if Mom catches you trying to sneak away again.”
“I wasn’t even considering it,” Jessie grumbled. And she hadn’t been. OK, maybe just a little, just for a second. “So . . . Max told Loralee she couldn’t come with them?” Did that mean he wanted to see her without Loralee around? That thought made her feel strange, like her heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to beat harder or stop beating altogether.
“Sounds like it.” Ann blew her bangs off her forehead and smiled. “Maybe this’ll be your chance to make your big move.”
“My big—oh. Shut up, Ann.” Jessie scowled.
“I have some clothes you could borrow. You know, if you wanted to dress a little . . . differently.”
Jessie glanced down at her T-shirt and shorts. They looked just fine to her. Then she studied Ann’s outfit, the way her teal shirt clung to her and brought out the color in her eyes, how her legs looked longer somehow in the cut of her jeans. She shook her head. Ann’s clothing looked tight and uncomfortable. She didn’t want to dress like that. Did she?
“Or not.” Ann shrugged and picked up a magazine. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Jessie muttered. She had to stay focused. “I have an errand to run. Will you cover for me?”
Ann frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Just . . . just another mission. You know, for the dog-walking thing.”
“At eight at night?”
“It has to be at night.” It was still light out now, but it would be dark soon. Dark was what she needed.
“Does this have something to do with that badly hidden lump under your shirt?”
“What lump?” Jessie asked.
Ann rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” Jessie said. “It may, or may not, have something to do with this alleged lump.”
Ann shook her head. “You’re ridiculous, Jessie. But just . . . be careful.”
“I’ll be careful,” Jessie promised. She opened the window, popped off the screen, and slipped out into the cool evening air, bringing the ziplock of fish with her. Then she remembered something. “Hey, Ann?” She poked her head back up.
